


To the Liquor Store

by usandthemoon



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcoholic Louis Tomlinson, Alternate Universe - No One Direction, Depressed Louis, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Love at First Sight, M/M, Meet-Cute, Sad Louis Tomlinson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:34:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25943668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usandthemoon/pseuds/usandthemoon
Summary: Harry's last-minute trip on a random spring evening to his local off-license doesn't necessarily go as planned. He's suddenly allured by a trembly Louis stumbling into the store. Oh, Louis is also incredibly fucked up.And then they meet.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	To the Liquor Store

It's time for Louis' weekly, daily sorry, trip to the off-license. He's run out of booze again. Even the soft shit, beer, cider, it's all gone.

His flat is an absolute tip. There are dirty plates and dishes abandoned in the flooded sink, the countertops, dining table. They must've been there for a while too because Louis hasn't cooked a proper meal in ages. Well, even if he had, he doesn't eat enough to make _that_ much of a mess.

Louis' diet consists of a packet of crisps, maybe two if he's feeling particularly peckish and the odd piece of toast. It's not a good thing, to eat so little, Louis knows that. But he really doesn't care enough to do anything about it.

It's not that Louis _wants_ to die per se or well, you know, wither away the way that he is. It's just. Throughout these past few months, he's grown more and more unbothered about things. As his face has sunken in, his cheekbones have become too prominent, his eyes are dark and lifeless, it's just strange. Louis feels alienated inside of his own body. A body that's frail now. Louis' all skin and bone, as Liam would say.

Now Louis adores Liam, he's his best mate, since high school really—lifelong mates—and Liam tries to help Louis, a lot. He tries really hard. You see, Liam was with Louis, for the most part, during his mum's sickness. And when she passed, Liam held Louis as he cried and cried and cried until the tears just kind of ran out. Louis spent that night in the hospital with Liam's armed wrapped around him securely, showing just by his tight grip that he would be there for Louis forever. Louis really loved Liam, still does; but it wasn't enough.

After Jay's passing, Louis put up a really brave front. He took care of his sisters the way any big brother should. He didn't sleep enough at all, but it was okay. Louis doesn't like to sleep in case he dreams of her.

Sometimes it would be peaceful, to see his mum's beautiful face again as his mind wandered infinitely during sleep, but when Louis would wake up, well. He would lose her all over again.

Sleep vastly became Louis' greatest enemy.

Liam tried to get Louis the help he needed, so he could work it all out. He even got his coworker Zayn to intervene as well, to help motivate Louis. But it was pointless. Louis eventually grew sick and ruthless. He'd snap and act out at his friends when they pushed him to stop being so self-pitying. Then he'd disappear for days. That's when the drinking started. 

Once Felicité and Lottie were old enough to take over, Louis almost let go. Of everything. Granted, he still cared for his friends and family, but he couldn't control their safety. Louis could never be sure they wouldn't leave him, too. That's when he kind of lost it.

He still has a job, if that counts for anything. Louis works at the pub near his flat. Niall—the bartender there—quickly befriended Louis when he found his new favourite drinking spot and became his best customer. Even though Niall's job was to literally be a good mate to the local customers, he liked Louis a little more than the others. Probably pitied him a little more, too. But either way, he got Louis a job.

So he survives for the most part. Even if every day is the same, boring, repetitive, miserable, lightless day. Louis survives.

And he had been surviving consistently for a long period of time until he got that phone call; a panicked Lottie was ringing him as Louis was pouring his first drink of the day—at nine in the morning—when he had picked up the phone. She told Louis Felicite had passed away overnight. That she’d as many pills as she could swallow, and that nobody knew until about half an hour ago.

So basically his sister had lost control and it meant she would be gone forever. Louis sort of, blinked.

He spoke to Lottie for a minute or two before managing to end the call. And then he showered for a long time, just kind of stood there, balancing on his trembling legs that were now no thicker than his upper arm used to be. Louis pondered around for the day after calling in sick for work, questioning what to do now. He didn't tell Liam or Niall or Zayn.

Then the evening came around and well, here he is. Half a bottle of vodka pulsing relentlessly through his veins as he stammers down the stairs of his building, all wobbly and lightheaded (that would be the lack of food in his system). Off To the Liquor Store he goes.

Louis doesn't know how much he can take of this cruel world.

Friday night is here and Harry obviously isn't prepared. He's supposed to be meeting his friend Nick for their movie and wine night, but Harry forgot to buy a bottle of wine.

It wouldn't be that big of a deal if it wasn't his only responsibility. Nick will probably kill him if he doesn't show up with any wine, judging from the texts Harry's been receiving he's really looking forward to drinking some.

Therefore Harry has no choice but to delay his trip to Nick's house by stopping by the closest shop he can find. It's a corner store, not far from where he lives, although Harry's only lived in London for less than a year now. He's almost settled in his flat, but he's still learning about the area. It's all still pretty new.

It's around half seven, quarter to eight in the evening, when Harry arrives at the chosen location. The weather's miserable, as always, it's London for God's sake. So Harry shakes off his dampened curls because he's a little slow and forgot to bring an umbrella. He walks deeper into the small store, scanning the shelves for a bottle Nick would approve of.

He thinks he's found the one. Harry reaches out to grab it when the door swings open, dinging the small bell that rests above it.

Glancing over absently, Harry tries to turn back but can't. He can't focus on the wine now because something much more intriguing has caught his eye. The prettiest boy just walked in. Well no, he kind of tripped in.

The boy appears quite small from the looks of things. He trots down the aisle, ignoring the sceptical whisper from the cashier about his unsteady walk, heading straight to where Harry is.

Up close he’s is even more enticing. But also, Harry can't help but notice how terribly odd he appears.

Firstly, it's clear the boy's energy isn't exactly comforting to be around. Just standing next to him, Harry feels an uneasy heaviness about the boy's presence. He is sort of deflating the atmosphere. And when the boy extends his arm and reaches up high for a bottle of gin, his sleeve rolls down with it, exposing a patch of pale skin. Pale skin wrapped around the smallest wrist Harry has ever seen.

Usually, he finds small and dainty things quite endearing, but this boy's wrist is so tiny and _thin_. Harry feels a little nauseous just thinking about how fragile it would be to hold.

They lock eyes for a second, the boy and Harry, it's unsettling to say the least. As Harry's heart flutters with confusion and longing, his mind is scattered. The boy's eyes are a heavenly blue, an ocean blue. Just _blueblueblue_. Harry's forgets how to breathe.

"Um, you alright mate?" the boy says. He has a ridiculously wonderful voice. It's the perfect pitch and all.

Harry finishes blinking like a bloody mental patient and catches his breath. "Yeah, yeah. S-sorry," he mutters.

Fuck, he's such a mess right now. It's just, the boy's eyes are so **blue** , but they're also so dilated and red. A little puffy, too.

The boy offers Harry an unsure smile that isn't really a smile and more of an awkward dismissal. He sways recklessly when he walks around Harry's tall figure and heads towards the front to pay.

Silently Harry picks out a random bottle, disregarding Nick's stupid preferences and rushing over to pay himself, but the boy's already vanished into the night's breeze. 

His head's already starting to hurt, Louis really needs to figure out a way to fix that. The excessive alcohol intake definitely isn't helping though, but he isn't going to stop. Not when the fun's only just begun.

He's plonked himself down on a bench somewhere opposite the shop. It's under some shelter which is nice, it protects him from the rain a bit. The bench is positioned near a patch of grass and Louis thinks it's probably quite pretty here during the daytime. He thinks his mum would've liked to sit here and read.

Then Louis thinks he needs another drink because his mind is far too active for his own liking.

Twisting the lid off and flicking it into his lap, Louis smiles to himself emptily before taking a few gulps. It should burn, it should be uncomfortable, but nothing will ever top this numbing pit inside of his stomach that will never go away.

Taking in a deep breath, Louis folds into himself weakly, fighting back the tears he knows he needs to shed. It's difficult to get rid of the pain when it's all he can think about, all he can focus on. Yet his eyes dart away when the shop door opens and a tall, curly-headed man walks out.

Louis thinks he looks familiar, but he isn't sure. Did they meet inside the store? Things are a tad blurry.

The man goes to turn left but catches Louis from the corner of his eye, and Louis stammers. Instead of letting his sight linger, he looks both ways before crossing directly over to Louis. Which then leads to Louis panicking, he tries to sit up and stumble away but he just about manages to lift his head up.

By the time he manages that the boy is standing right in front of him, rain trickling down the sleeves of his coat.

"You alright, mate?" the man says, his voice his reasonably low.

Louis can just about make out what the man looks like, thanks to the amber streetlights. His curls are perky, despite being mildly damp, his eyes are bright and kind. Louis thinks they might be green but he isn't sure. The man's got a beautiful pair of lips, soft and supple. He's also clutching a bottle of wine that he presumably bought from the store they'd just been in. Louis realises he's hardcore staring then. 

"Uh, yeah, sorry. Just sitting down for a bit, I'm good," he lies. He's far from “good”.

The man frowns slightly, he's hovering over Louis and it's clear they both aren't sure how to react to that. "Are you sure? It's late and...you're smashed and well, you just going to wander around all night?" The man is speaking cautiously. It's like he's wary of how Louis might react.

Rightfully so, though, Louis is a ticking time bomb. How he hasn't kicked off yet is beyond him.

"Nah, mate," Louis clears his throat and shivers a bit with the wet breeze passing by. "I live 'round the corner, so, I'm good," he reaches for the bottle again, taking a generous sip. The man's eyes widen with his action, probably startled by Louis' ability to drink so much so quick. He probably feels repulsed, watch his next few words be a dismissal so he can leave. Louis would certainly run away if he saw himself like this, too.

"Oh, I do, as well. Want some company?" the man offers with a curt curl of his lips.

Louis miraculously manages to stand up, shakily balancing on his feet. "Cheers for the offer but 'm good." His head lolls and he feels overwhelmingly dizzy, which is a good sign, believe it or not. Things are starting to numb out. "See you around," he says one last time, making his way down the curve of the pathway.

The man seems to disagree because he's walking with Louis now anyway, breathing quietly and standing strangely. His limbs are all loose and weird and Louis thinks he's adorably awkward. "I don't think you should be walking around in this state," he says.

Louis snorts. "No offence, Curly, but I can take care of me self, yeah?"

The man breathes in a laugh, looking down at Louis. He's a few inches taller than him, okay maybe a few more, but the man's charming as it is. He's very attractive and if Louis wasn't in complete shambles he would consider flirting with him. But that wouldn't be fair on Curly, he's too happy and free, he doesn't need Louis' added weight.

"Yeah, maybe you can, but what happens when you're viciously attacked out of nowhere and you're too drunk to even stand up straight, let alone run for your life?"

That's a little extreme, but Louis can go along with it. Curly seems like decent company for the time being.

"Well, then, mate. Sounds like a better ending than actually making it home, doesn't it?" The man's breathing shudders.

That was too upfront, wasn't it?

"Um. Wouldn't say I'd agree with that." His eyes fall to pavement and Louis feels a little guilty for slipping up, he's already deflated Curly's joyous front. "Don't think I'd fancy waking up and seeing on the news that the pretty boy I met last night was involved in a nasty stabbing. Wouldn't be ideal."

They're nearing Louis' flat now, minutes away. "It'd be a cool story to tell at parties, though."

The man's lips purse unsurely and he sort of slows down, turning to look at Louis properly. "What's your name?"

He wasn't expecting him to say that but alright. 

"Uh, Louis? Louis Tomlinson. Louis William Tomlinson," he muses.

Curly smiles at that. "Cute," he says.

It's predictable, but Louis nearly falls over. The man clutches onto the sleeve of Louis' oversized denim jacket, steadying him before dropping his hands to his sides. "Thanks. And you?"

"Huh?" The man runs his fingers through his wet locks; there's a lot of delicate metal wrapped around them, they're long, beautiful. And his hair is pretty, too. Real pretty. Louis' probably staring.

"What's your name, Curly?" he says.

After his lips take the form of a humorous 'o' shape, he replies, "'M Harry. Harry Edward Styles."

"Ah. A pleasure to meet you, Harry Styles," Louis says with a coy grin, offering his shaky hand. Harry reciprocates the action by sliding his palm against Louis, it's much warmer than Louis'. Probably because Harry had both his hands tucked away in his pockets, meanwhile Louis' been clutching his bottle of gin, taking too many sips throughout their walk.

At last, they reach the front door of Louis' apartment building, after a few awkward exchanges of dismissive looks, Louis waves Harry goodbye and heads towards the door gracefully. 

"Wait, Louis!" Harry shouts from behind him abruptly.

He freezes then, hand curled around the door handle when he feels Harry walk up behind him. 

"Can I use your bathroom? If that's...alright with you?"

This, again, is unexpected. "Sure?"

Louis is a bit wary of Harry still. Despite him being ridiculously alluring and stunningly charismatic, he still perceived Curly as a stranger who is very persistent on staying nearby the drunken mess that is Louis. It's a little odd.

"Thanks," Harry chirps and steps back so Louis can continue opening the door.

After stumbling slightly on his way up the flight of stairs, with Harry chuckling lightly beside him, Louis manages to open his door and let them both inside. "'S down the hall to your right. You should find it," Louis says, walking straight into the kitchen and grabbing a lucky, unused glass. 

This is unnerving to say the least. The appearance of his house is trashy and if Louis has nights like this lot, Harry's sure his place will always remain this neglected. He doesn't find it repulsive or sickening, though.

Instead, Harry views it as saddening. To see how difficult it must be for anybody to lose this much control over their home life and such. Louis can laugh it off and make a joke all he wants, but his façade will only last so long. Harry doesn't know how long Louis' been living like this but he can't possibly carry on much longer.

Harry dawdles around the hallway on his way to the 'bathroom', taking in the tossed away clothes and fallen objects. He smiles distantly when he notices the old band t-shirts and skinny jeans laying around, similar to the ones Louis is wearing currently. And then his mind drifts back to when he saw Louis in the store, how taken back he was by Louis' macilent legs and emaciated wrists.

It's too much.

He eventually finds himself in the bathroom of Louis' flat, the wall's are still damp and the screen of his shower still has droplets trickling down the surface. Harry's eyes lock curiously onto the bottle of fruity shampoo in the corner on a small shelf propped onto the tiled wall, he can't help but wonder if Louis' hair smells like berries and summer fruits right now. He wouldn't mind finding out.

Sliding his hand into his coat pocket, Harry pulls out his phone and opens up WhatsApp to see Nick is already online. _Sorry but I'm either gonna be really late or not able to make it at all. Raincheck?_ He hits send and swallows the guilt building in his throat. Even after all the trouble of buying Nick's wine and worrying about disappointing him, the second he saw Louis, it all went to shit.

Only a minute passed before he got a response. _you can't raincheck when we meet up every week. it's fine h, im going to bed. take care of yourself, twat_ , it reads.

Harry sighs and puts away his phone. He meets his reflection's hazy eyes and gathers up some more courage. Meeting Louis was an opportunity and he doesn't really know what he's doing or what he can do, but if he doesn't try something, Harry's worried he won't even stoping thinking about Louis William Tomlinson and his sad, _blueblue **blue**_ , ocean eyes.

Wandering back into the centre room, Harry notices Louis propped up against his couch, sinking into the cushions and being engulfed by its contents. He looks tiny in comparison, legs curled inwards and his angular face is so settled with sleep.

He looks at peace, for the most part, and then he jolts and Harry flinches.

Louis' eyes shoot open and he clutches his own face worryingly, almost alarmed to be awake. Harry steps back and accidentally bashes into a coffee table, knocking off empty packets of crisps and more rubbish that had piled up on there. He sighs.

Louis looks at Harry with precaution, as if he has no clue who he is, and then when he finally realises Harry is the stranger he'd let into his home, his features relax and he breathes out tiredly. 

"Fuck," he murmurs. "Sorry. Do you need to be let out?"

Harry fights the urge to laugh because Louis is worried about what _Harry_ needs. Seriously. When he's about ten seconds away from blacking out again.

"Louis, are you alright?" he asks—mainly because Louis still looks really freaked out.

"'M fine. Just fell into a bad dream."

How long had Harry disappeared for? He couldn't have been that long, but then again, he did wind up going through Louis' cabinets just in the odd case Louis was an addict, too. Okay it wasn't his place at all to do that, but he can't take seeing anybody like this. Let alone somebody as beautiful as Louis.

"Why are you still here?" Louis questions after Harry's silence puts him on edge. His voice sounds harsh and fed up. He sits up and reaches for the bottle next to his ankles.

Harry fights the urge to rip it out of his hand and run off with it. 

"I, um. Don't you think you've had enough for the night?" Harry voices and shit. He definitely should not have said that. 

Louis almost physically retracts from Harry then, standing up and walking away wounded.

"C'mon, Curly. Cut the crap and murder me or whatever you're here to do. Just get on with it, yeah?" he mutters bitterly and shit, again.

Does Louis really think he's come inside just to hurt him?

"I don't want to murder you. I was worried you'd drink yourself to death. So, quite the opposite actually." Harry sighs when Louis pours himself another cup after downing the first. He wonders how Louis is still standing after all he's drunk tonight.

"Win-win either way," Louis muses in a sing-song type of voice. Harry wants to scream.

He paces across space between them and stops directly in front of Louis, nearly towering over him. He feels a lot bigger than him right now, it isn't comforting, he feels like he could crush Louis instantaneously. It's tugging at his chest roughly. 

"You're so beautiful. And wonderful. Why are you so sad?"

With that, Louis' eyes pull from the floor at a torturous pace. It's exasperatingly slow. And when blue meets green, the world sort of buffers.

"Every day just gets worse. And worse. And then I get the smallest bit of relief. And then it gets worse again." His voice is as sharp and as prickly as the end of a needle. Louis is piercing every inch of Harry's skin and it's agony.

His words are glass, as well; little, beautiful, finely shredded shards of glass that have already embedded themselves into Harry's palms and throat and arteries and bloody, beating heart.

The overwhelming blur brewing in Harry's eyes is distracting. Louis' figure is melting together and he can't stand it.

Upon seeing Harry's demeanour, Louis withdraws himself even more, stepping farther away from Harry.

"I'm not sad, Harry Edward Styles. I'm barely existing. I'm rotting away in this cruel world and it's not enough."

There's static sound ringing through Harry's ears and his world is crumbling in. Louis' voice is so shaky despondent. He's never seen a more devastating sight. The broken man before him is so hopeless and so empty.

Harry thinks this cruel world has failed him. And it doesn't deserve Louis one bit.

"But you are sad, Louis. You're so heartbreakingly sad. You keep making these sick jokes and light-hearted implications about death and letting yourself go. Why would you ever want that?" Harry asks him. He's aware it's raw and it's brutally real. But it seems Louis is past the easygoing crap—it seems Louis is past it all.

Except, ironically, nobody could've prepared for what Louis said next.

When the smaller boy breathes in a despairing breath and leans back against the countertop behind him, he lets it all out. Harry thinks it's the first time in a long time Louis just, lets it all out.

"I want— _wanted_ —to die, Harry. I was thinking about killing myself, have thought about it. But then I felt that tearing ache inside, and it was like. It was like the pain just wasn't in my head anymore, and I could feel it in my body, and it felt so fucking good. I want to hurt myself, Harry, and that _hurt_ —the drinks and starving myself until I feel like I'm fucking floating—it hurts so good. It's the only thing I live for. I am sad, sure. Fine. I am a mess, if you haven't noticed. So why are you still here?"

It's all too much for Harry to process. The honest confession, the devastating truth he’d had already predicted to be real.

He's not thinking when he wraps his arms around Louis and pulls him into his chest. He's not thinking when he hears Louis let out a broken, defeatist sob and clings to Harry as his life depends on it. He's not thinking when he feels his eyes gloss over and he cradles Louis' head tightly like he's planning on never letting him go. He isn't.

In spite of the fact Harry doesn't know why or how something could have ever caused this pain to destroy Louis, he feels the oxygen being stripped from his lungs. There is so much of it. There is so much pain inside of this forlorn boy, the boy he's clutching to his chest so closely.

Harry silently vows to himself as he cards his fingers through Louis' silky hair and shushes away his broken whines and pleas for it all to stop.

He vows to never let Louis suffer through life alone, like this. Harry doesn't know Louis, who he is, what he likes—what his favourite colour is and his little quirks or habits are—but he wants to. He wants to know it all. Albeit, that's only if Louis will let him.

You see, Harry’s got all the time in the world, though. He'll wait for Louis. Forever if he must. From the instant he saw the prettiest boy he'd ever seen, stumble into that bloody off-licence, Harry knew he could and would end up waiting for him forever. He just knew.

And so he carried Louis Tomlinson in his arms, cradling him preciously. He tucked him away in bed securely and didn't waste a second engulfing him once more when Louis begged him to stay. He stroked Louis' fringe lightly and kissed his temples with desperation and promises.

His lips printed words into Louis' trembling skin permanently, _you are enough._

_You may be hurting and you may have given up on the world entirely._

_But you wear your broken pieces beautifully._

_You are enough._

The next morning Louis woke up feeling _different_. He didn't feel the coldness of the kitchen tiles pressed against his cheek, he didn't feel the aching of his spine after it's been compressed and compact all night. He didn't feel like he needed hours of more sleep and rest, because let's be honest, Louis didn't sleep enough at all. He didn't feel pitiful and incurable. He felt warm.

His eyes fluttered open as the morning light cascaded in through the thin curtains hanging over the windows of his bedroom. Louis hums and writhes until he deems himself comfortable, and that's when he sees Curly.

More so, he sees Curly's arms wrapped around him.

Harry Styles is fast asleep with a euphoric smile resting subconsciously on his plush lips. His glorious curls are wild with beauty and grace and youth. His arms hold Louis tighter as he inhales slowly, breathing in Louis' scent and letting his smile grow even larger.

So Harry Styles _is_ awake.

"Who let this big stranger in my bed?" Louis calls out, lifting his head and talking to his invisible audience. "Is this how the murder case begins? I'm going to be killed in my own bed," he continues.

With that, the most beautiful of sounds is heard when Harry muffles out a laugh and pushes his face into Louis' torso welcomingly.

Louis can't resist it anymore, he sinks his fingers into those luscious curls and indulges in the wonderful feeling of Harry's soft hair. 

"Thank you," he finds the bravery to speak. The younger boy looks up at Louis, groggy-eyed and gazing attentively. "For staying. Listening. Caring."

Those wide doe eyes dilate then. Louis isn't sure if it's because of the bright sun or because he's looking at Louis like he's a rare supernova soaring through a pitch-black sky. He doesn't mind; Harry's gorgeous to look at either way. 

"You deserve so much," he replies.

It shouldn't rupture his heart, but Louis swears he feels it stop beating for a moment. He brings his nimble fingers up, brushing over Harry's jawline and high cheekbones gently. It's like stars are dancing under the pads of his fingertips, Harry's skin is magic. 

"Not you," he half-smiles.

"I want you. I don't care how little I know you," Harry retorts and his heart halts again.

"Curly...” Louis sighs. But Harry cuts him off.

"Don't say anything that you don't mean, Lou. I know it sounds mental, I know it sounds like I'm insane, but I saw you and it was like I couldn't breathe until you came my way.” He places his hand over Louis' wrist, allowing his large palm to wrap entirely around it, which didn't take a lot of effort. "'M afraid I won't I'll be able to stay away from you, even if you want me gone. I've fallen for you, already," he grins.

Louis smiles. He smiles properly, brightly, for the first time in a long time. He's beaming. 

"You sure? 'Cause I'm no walk in the park," he affirms.

"I like a challenge. I'll try and I'll try, won't stop until I get you and you're mine," Harry says, purring.

"Hmm," Louis hums, tucking his thigh in between Harry's legs and letting his hands wrap around Harry's broad back. "Okay," he agrees and shuts his eyes. 

He feels himself being pushed into Harry's front even more. "One condition, though."

"Uh-huh," Louis mutters, eyes still closed.

"Don't do this to yourself anymore, please," Louis looks at him suddenly. "I know it's not black and white. I know it'll take time, but I want to help you. I want to show you how the world can be nice. I want to show you how wonderful you are," Harry says.

"It's temporary though," Louis sighs and sits up, ruffling his messy bed hair. Harry's undeniably frowning, but he keeps his hand on Louis' back and rubs circles with his thumb. "Things will turn, I'll get worse. 'S how it usually goes," he shrugs.

"Louis. It takes a lot for somebody to see the world in a better light once you've seen it in its darkest. I'm still trying, I'm still learning. Granted, seems like all you've known is the darkness. For too long. You're so bright and sunny, Lou. Even at your darkest, you shine like golden sunlight. You're golden. 'S why I couldn't look away from you. It’s why I don't think I'll ever look away from you," Harry rambles.

Christ, Louis thinks. He's found himself a right sap. It's a good thing he gets what he means though, about the light. Harry reminded Louis of stranded light lost in the shadows. That lonesome crack in the wall. Harry is the salvation in the midst of Louis' misery.

For once, Louis doesn't feel entirely lost.

Because maybe Louis doesn't think he'd be able to stay from Harry, either. Maybe Harry is Louis' lifeline. Maybe there's hope for him, after all.

"Okay," he agrees and Harry smiles brightly. "I'll try. I'll give it a go, the world. But only for you," Louis says, sinking his finger into one of Harry's dimples. He's wanted to do that for ages.

A few minutes of silence tick by, before, "Haz," his sleepy voice is a bit more serious than it was earlier; Louis is never usually this serious for this long. Things are changing already, apparently. He likes it if it means he gets to keep Harry, though. "Thank you for walking me home."

Like a gigantic goof, Harry snorts. "You're welcome, Lou."

"Hazzz," he says again.

"Yes, Louis," Harry chews his bottom lip.

"You ever going to brush your teeth," Louis says and Harry furrows his eyebrows together.

"So you can kiss me?"

And there's a trail of dust left behind as Harry jolts from the bed in a blink and ends up in Louis' bathroom. He can hear the door swing open and a loud shout echo through his flat, "I'm going to use your toothbrush!" he announces. Louis' clutching his tummy, gasping for breath when his laughter overpowers him, tears pooling in his eyes. 

Harry is such a dork. Could be his dork, though.

He joins him in the bathroom and rests his chin over Harry's shoulder as he's leaning over the sink, glancing at them both in the mirror. "Hurry up," he urges and Harry's practically scrubbing his teeth away.

The toothbrush is shoved into Louis' mouth next and his eyes widen with surprise as Harry begins brushing his teeth for him. It's wonderfully domestic.

When they're done Harry rinses it clean and pops it lightly back into the plastic cup balancing on Louis' sink. And then Louis' chest sinks with anticipation when Harry turns around with gleamy green eyes.

His large hands hook onto Louis' hips and he lifts him into the air, forcing Louis to wrap his legs around Harry's waist. He yelps and squeals when Harry presses him into the wall. When his fingers trail down Louis' thighs he sighs, dancing his digits across the skin playfully. He sighs, frowning.

Louis pouts, cupping Harry's cheek. "What's up?" he asks and they lock eyes. Things are so natural between them, so easygoing. They can be so close and so intimate, without any hesitation. It's like they've known each other for a decade and Louis thinks it's insane. He loves it. It's fate, he thinks happily. "And don't say the sky."

Then Harry breaks out into a cackle, which is a good sign.

"If I make you breakfast, and lunch, and dinner, would you eat it all?" he muses.

Louis presses his lips against the tip of Harry's nose and melts. "Believe it or not, I actually want to eat now. I'm starving and I have a feeling you're a great cook," he grins.

"Oh, I'm the best," Harry perks up.

"Good," Louis says. "I'll try. Promise you, I will."

"Yeah," Harry agrees. "Gotta get some meat on you, maybe your bum'll get even bigger," he beams.

Louis' jaw goes slack and he's astonished. "You been staring at my bum, Harry Styles?" he gasps frantically.

"How could I not?" he slides his hands up Louis' thighs and causes a shivering temptation to itch up Louis' spine. After mischief flares through the green of his eyes and he squeezes Louis' bum firmly, he's gone.

"Any time this year—"

Louis' cut off by Harry's mouth pressing against his firmly, hand tangling in Louis' hair and tipping his head back. A satisfied moan escapes both of their throats as their tongues meet with a wave of passion and eagerness. The fit, moulding together like jigsaw pieces, meant to be. Harry's hands roam all over Louis skin and Louis feels golden now.

He feels his skin reignite and his blood pump wildly. It's like he's alive again.

Maybe he is.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this wasn't dreadful to read. I'll be writing more in the near future regardless, so maybe I'll earn some redemption. Thank you for reading!


End file.
